A Brother's Love
by Money-My Life
Summary: In London, 1666, Arthur Kirkland also known as the United Kingdom of England and Northern Ireland was captured by a group of occult fanatics due to being suspected as a witch. Trapped, tortured, starved than burnt at the stake, what would his brothers, Scotland, Wales and Ireland do when they found him traumatized and hurt? Three shot.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia Axis Power, it belongs to its rightful owner whose name I forgot the spelling. **

**Merry Christmas! Hope my fic don't ruin a perfectly happy Christmas for you.**

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><p>"Ya' all fools." He spat in disgust. His golden hair shone lightly in the pale moonlight as his emerald green eyes burned with hate, and oddly betrayal and hurt. His arms and body hurt from the torture he went through, the thick rope that was tied around his midsection was suffocating-almost similar to a corset but covering less area. His blonde hair is greasy and dirty, matted with blood and water. Bruises decorated his sunken pale face like in a macabre painting, under his eyes were dark bags from stress.<p>

"Burn the witch…?" He scoffed, "How many times do I have to tell you that I am _not._" His authoritative voice cut through the shouts and chants for his death. Death of the _witch_, he thought darkly.

He felt the pain for when they started throwing sticks and stones at him, stabbing and injuring him with whatever they have in hand. It all left him bleeding and hurt, only for the wounds to regenerate in a minute.

"Quit your yammering _witch_." The man at the front smirked arrogantly, while emphasizing on the last word to mock the 'witch' that is tied to the stake. "As if a being who lived for millennials could be no witch."

The 'witch' glared at the man, he was the one that had given information of him to those…fanatics, his previous butler.

It is the year 1666, the number of witch trials were declining but had not removed itself from the people's mind, completely.

_It was a beautiful Monday morning, and Arthur was having his steamy cup of Earl Grey before a large noise resounded in the mansion. It was as if someone- or a group of people are trying to break into the mansion by force._

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

_It seemed that they are using a log, how unrefined, Arthur thought._

_Arthur placed down his cup of tea and stood up warily. What was happening? He immediately closed his eyes to concentrate, sensing his servants rushing around trying to…escape. And there were some, no, a whole gang of villagers breaking into the mansion…_

_He knew that this is going to happen somehow as his mansion is located near the countryside but this is ridiculous._

_His hand hovered over his rapier which is hidden under his coat, wondering it was needed or not._

_He quickly turned around and ran through a secret passage just before the door to his office was broke down, a large group of men charged in. Searching for the blonde haired noble, they looked in each and every corner of the room but there was no noble in sight._

_One of the men observed the wall behind the grand mahogany table, it felt hollow. As if one had carved into it…His eyes widened and ran towards the direction of the wall, or perhaps, a secret passage._

_Pushing against where it caved in, the door to the secret passage groaned and slid open to reveal a long flight of spiraling staircase. He immediately called his comrades, shouting for them to follow him. Dark shadows swirled around the men threateningly, but they paid no heed as the rushed down the stairs._

_As for Arthur, he ran and ran down the flight of cemented stairs. His shoes created a 'click clack' sound every time it made contact with the floor. His expensive black coat billowed against the wind, the white patterns standing out. His once perfectly-combed air is now disheveled and windswept. _

_His eyebrows are knitted together in worry and slight fear when he heard the door to his secret passage creak open. Followed by the yelling of the man that had-apparently-found it._

_He breathing is short and fast, a ball of sweat rolled down his face. He could hear his heartbeat in his ear, and in the background are the shouting of the men._

_Ah…where is it…? He fumbled around the folds of his clothes, trying to find the metal key that he always have on his person. Just. Where. Is. It?!_

_When he felt something hard and cold against hip and felt rather stupid. Shaking his head, he unclasped the chain from his trousers and unlocked the other door._

_He twisted the key in the key hole but the locking bar did not loosen its hold on the shackle. He then threw the key onto the floor in frustration._

_His eyes widened in fear when he heard the sound of a shoe against the surface of the floor. __A man huffed and smirked, "Nowhere to run now…you witch."_

_"__Witch…?!' Arthur thought, his hand quickly went to the hilt of his rapier. His hand gripped the golden grip of the rapier, unsheathing it as silently as possible. __Before he could act, they got hold of his limbs and forced him down. "Let me go! You barbarian!" He shouted. One of them brought in a coil of thick rope._

_"__Just what are you…!" A piece of cloth was forced into his mouth-thus gagging him. His wrists were tied together and so were his ankle._

_The last thing he witnessed was the smirking face of his butler before he was knocked unconscious and hoisted up._

"I am not." He denied weakly.

"How about you just admit it? Is not the time to be stubborn,_ Lord Kirkland_." Arthur looked down at the man. He had made a big, big mistake adopting him. Disgusting…

"You disgusting…" Arthur started, but was then cut off by the men.

"Enough chit-chattering! We cannot let the witch live on any longer. Burn him!" They started chanting. "Burn him. Burn the witch!"

Some lit the fire, and he could feel the heat just right underneath his soles. The fire licked at his bare feet, burning away the skin. He screamed in pain, his sound hoarse, towards the sky as the fire slowly consumed his feet. The ripped hem of his black trousers caught fire, the orange fire became more magnificent, and like a blooming flower it slowly coiled around his shin.

He could not cry, as his tears had long dried away. He could only scream, scream till his throat is bleeding and used. His screamed pierced through the chants for the death of the witch like a banshee's predicting a death which ironically, is his.

His scream soon diminished into pathetic half-choked out sobs and pleads for what is unknown. His legs burnt, his skin crumbled and burnt, turning black, red and bloody. He screamed loudly in pain, the few weak-hearted women in houses whimpered started praying, for the man's suffering to be over.

The men stepped back several steps due to the nauseating scent of burnt flesh, like charcoal but somehow…sweet. Whether it is a hallucination or illusion created by their sick mind or whatever, they cheered as the fire consumed nearly half of the body.

Arthur knew he is going to be revived again, perhaps in several days, or even mere hours. He did not care anymore.

Briefly, he remembered a familiar image of a person he once knew. It is fuzzy, but the bright red hair still stood out prominently.

Tears streaked down his cheeks and his mouth moved to form a word yet nothing came out, before even his head was consumed by the wild fire.

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><p><strong>This is meant to be a threeshot. I will update the next chapter soon enough. I wonder if I got Arthur in character...anyway, reviews please. Critiques are nice too but flamer will be ignored. <strong>

**Extra: The Great London Fire that swept through the central parts of London happened during Sunday, 2 September to Wednesday, 5 September 1666. It consumed 13, 200 houses, 87 parish churches, St Paul Cathedral and most of the buildings of the City authorities. The fire started from a bakery in Pudding Lane and spread rapidly across the city of London.**

**More information in Wikipedia...what? I don't have books.**


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